


Dragons and Drama

by CaptainDeryn



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: A little bit of everything, F/F, F/M, Gen, King Alistair, Multiple Wardens (Dragon Age), Queen Cousland, Some Fluff, Some angst, side characters of the inquisition, there's a fair amount of canon breaking, things actually work out for the aforementioned king and queen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 14:13:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 15,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16855483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainDeryn/pseuds/CaptainDeryn
Summary: A collection of stand-alone prompts centered around Dragon Age





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> “You deserve to know what love can feel like.” Baraneth and Alistair

Baraneth didn’t know what to expect when Alistair drew her aside upon their return from Denerim. Denerim had been..less than ideal, both in what it told them of Brother Genetivi’s whereabouts and in the direction Alistair’s half sister had taken when they spoke to her. 

(There were things that Baraneth could understand–a overworked and worried mother with hungry children being desperate for coin, the frustration of seeing someone better off than you and seeing the life you could have had if only you had understood the rules of the game. 

But what she couldn’t understand was lashing out at Alistair, simply searching for family, wholly innocent in his approach, and making unfounded accusations. Throwing family away just because they hit a stroke of luck as a child and drew the better lot in life. 

There were few things that send Baraneth’s blood boiling more than the callous way that Goldanna turned her back on Alistair. She would do anything to have her brother back–would  _have_ if it were to ever be a choice she’d have to make even before…well..before. 

It had taken all of her self control and willpower to bite her tongue after snapping that Goldanna would do well to appreciate the family she’s got, perhaps with more venom than she had intended and earning only a concerned look from Alistair and a cutting look from the nasty woman facing off with them. It had taken even greater will power to stand back and let Alistair make the decision to turn away, to see the pained expression on his face as he walked back through the door.  

They hadn’t spoken much on the streets outside of the woman’s wooden door, pressed into the rickety wooden building just across from where Ruinel and Laurel had gone into Genetivi’s home to acquire his research. Ruinel had looked to them worriedly, desisting only when Baraneth waved her away without any questions asked. Standing in the cobblestone streets of Denerim wasn’t the time or the place to dredge up Alistair’s past–if he wanted to share what had happened in Goldanna’s home then it was his business to share, but Baraneth had a sneaking suspicion that there was a reason he had chosen only her to accompany them and that he wouldn’t be volunteering what had happened.)

Alistair drew her away from the group with a hand tentative on her shoulder only after their tents were pitched and a fire roaring merrily in their cobbled together firepit  “Bara..can I speak to you?” 

She glanced up at him, a hand reaching up to hover above his until his walking slowed, where she slipped out from under it, taking his hand in her own as she stood in front of him. “Alistair?” 

He looked askance, anywhere but directly at her until finally his eyes settled on his feet. “I wanted to thank you…for going into Denerim with me. For helping me finding Goldanna.” A hollow, humorless laugh coughed from him. “I know it wasn’t pleasant. Maker…” 

She pursed her lips, eyebrows drawing together. She didn’t want to say the wrong thing, anything but the wrong thing that could make this all the worse or go up in flames. The trust he had placed in her was monumentous but delicate and oh so tentative–a house of cards waiting to fall at the slightest breath against it. “You’re important to me, of course I went with you.” 

Shock flitted across his features–oh but  _why_? She had never down anything but deepening affection for him ever since they had been forced together–and his lips parted slightly before he gave another quick, slightly nervous laugh. “You…right, you really know how to strike me dumb. Not that that’s hard. I just…I had this whole speech planned, thanking you for your kindness and offering to repay you in any way you seem fit.” He paused, a small hum escaping him as he flushed at a sudden thought. “Well, almost any way. There might be boundaries.” 

Hurt stung her, quick and brief. “You didn’t think I’d go with you? That I’d think it’d be a chore?” 

“What? No, no, no. Well…it’s just…you’ve lost so much. I thought that maybe finding lost family would be..insensitive. Too close to a fresh wound. I saw the way you looked at Goldanna when she started speaking like she did, I didn’t mean to pull you into that.” 

“ _Alistair_.” Baraneth huffed in exasperation, shaking her head. “I wanted to help you. Yes, I lost my family, yes Goldanna pushing you away infuriated me because she has the luxury of being angry but I wouldn’t change going with you into Denerim. I don’t know how to make you understand that I care about you, that that’s how I want to show it. By being there.” 

The man standing before her, maybe intimidating from a distance with the well built frame and height of a warrior but soft in the firelight, with gentle brown eyes looking at her quizzically, was incredibly thick when he had his mind set to it. Part of Baraneth wanted nothing more than to seize his collar and drag his lips to hers, perhaps that would show him what her words were failing to do. Yet instead she stood stock still, his hand still clenched in hers as she implored him with her eyes to understand. 

“But…why?” He finally asked, confusion dividing a line between his brows. 

“Because,” Baraneth sighed, freeing her hand from his and on some wild urge bringing her hands to slide up to either side of his jaw, catching his attention wholly. He went still beneath her palms, skin warm beneath her touch. “You deserve to know what love feels like. If you let me, I want to show you.” 

Alistair looked at her blankly for a moment, she could see the gears turning in his mind before something taunt in him softened completely. A small smile spread across his face and he turned his head, his nose brushing against her hand. “Maker’s breath you deserve so much more than the lot you’ve been given. I know it’s strange, we haven’t known each all that long. But I’ve come to…care about you a great deal as well. There is no other person I would have rather had at my side in Denerim.” 

“Then will you let me in?” Baraneth tilted her head, looking up at him. When he glanced back at her it was open, saturated with some emotion she couldn’t decipher entirely. Affection, relief, some form of awe?

“You’ve had me.” He admitted in a murmur. “Ever since Ostagar.” 

A small thrill shot through Baraneth and without thinking to she stepped a breath closer, hands sliding to the back of his neck. He looked at her, eyes half lidded. There was little between them now except their own unasked questions and tentative feelings. “Bara…can I..this isn’t too soon is it?” 

“You can.” She breathed and the distance between them seemed to close in slow motion, the touch of Alistair’s lips against her barely a whisper. Uncertainty his hands found her waist, guiding her close as she melted under his touch. 

When they parted, just enough to be able to see into each other’s eyes again, Alistair brought a hand between them to brush at her cheek, a quiet smile spreading across his face. “Maker’s breath, but you’re beautiful. I am a lucky man.” 

“Or I a lucky woman.” Baraneth added, looking at him from under her lashes and trailing her thumb along the line of his haw simply because she could, voices soft to just be kept between them. She wanted to pull him back against her, feel his lips against hers once more. And yet she didn’t want to push it, she wanted to savor every moment he gave her, every bit of shared trust he offered. “Perhaps the luck goes both ways.” 

Something in her face must have given her thoughts away, or perhaps he had disruptive thoughts of his own, as he cleared his throat and stepped back, though the slight rasp of his whisper that curled her toes still remained. “We should get back to…whatever we were doing. Lest I forget entirely why we are here.” 


	2. Briar and Anders: “Nothing could ever make me hate you.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Briar and Anders--takes place post DA2

“They still won’t let me into the royal palace to let me speak to the king and queen.” Briar scrubbed her hands through her hair, yanking out the leather tie she had used to tame the wild tresses back into a ponytail. 

The dusty, splintering wood of the floor sent puffs of dirt into the pools of dying evening light streaming through the small window above her head as she paced back and forth across the abandoned home they were squating in. 

From the corner where Anders sat cross legged on their combined bedrolls–spread across the floor parallel to each other as to avoid any unfortunate splinters–he piped up tiredly. “Briar you don’t need to keep trying.” 

“…I show up unarmed, unarmored, with proof that I am an Amell,” Briar continued, scowling down at the black sleeves of the ornate tunic and pants emblazoned with her family crest that were the only two things considered well-to-do not still in her home in Kirkwall. “And what does the guard tell me? That the king and queen won’t even hear me.” 

“Briar,” Anders tried again, scrubbing a hand over his face. She paused, for once the frosty look she had regarded him with thawed and open, though there was none of her old affection in those golden honey eyes. “you don’t need to do this for me.” 

“I’m not doing this for  _you_.” Their time on the run had taken it’s toll on her, darkening under her eyes and sharpening the once soft planes of her face–he wondered how much of that was him–and her voice was drawn taunt. “I’m doing this so that mages fleeing Kirkwall can come to a country that knows the truth, not whatever story the Chantry and Templars will tell.” 

They regarded each other for a silent moment, the air snapping between them as Briar hesitated to say something from the way her lips pursed. She was the first to look away, turning back to her pacing. “They’re going to have to listen to me eventually, I’ve heard stories of the queen, she seems like a good, reasonable woman and Alistair already knows my name. I’ll try again tomorrow.”

Then she fell silent, lost in her own planning and she started fiddling with their makeshift lock on the door–a scrap of fabric tying the latch tight, and then moved to let the cloak they had pinned to the window fall down against the darkening skies until it was just a sliver left. With a snap of his fingers he lit their shared lamp, spreading a warm orange glow across the small room. 

“Briar,” He finally started, knotting his hands together. 

“Don’t.” Briar’s voice tightened. 

“Don’t  _what_?” Anders shook his head. “I know that you’re only here out of pity, that you just couldn’t bring yourself to see me dead.” 

She hissed, “You know  _nothing_.” 

“You hate me.” He said matter-of-factly, watching the way her eyes flashed. “What I did.” 

Briar crossed her arms, looping them close over her chest like a shield over her heart. “I don’t hate you.” she growled. “I am  _angry_  with what you did, I am angry that you  _used_ me and that you abused my trust.” Her voice rose and with effort she brought it back down. “But I am not here out of pity, I never want to see you dead at the hands of Templars. I am here because..because I still care about you.” Her voice softened, a deep edge of weariness breaking it. “Nothing could ever make me hate you, why can’t you understand that?” 

Softly, almost softer than he could hear and muffled by the hand she scrubbed over her face, she whispered, “Why do you refuse to trust me?” 

Before he could think of a response she brought her hands back up through her hand, a quiet sniffle poorly withheld and padded over to their bedrolls, unlacing her tunic and slipping the clean and soft fabric over her head to folk neatly back into her pack. He moved over as she sat down, yanked her boots off, and put those by her pack as well. 

Perhaps once the vision of her in the glowing lantern light, profile hidden in part by the curtain of her hair, would have sent a thrill through Anders. Now it just sent a dull, aching pang of longing through his heart. She was so distant, so far from him even as she curled up on her side physically close. 

“I’m going to try to speak to them again tomorrow.” Briar muttered, shifting to try and find a comfortable spot. 

“Okay.” Anders replied softly, turning his back to her and tucking his hands under his head to keep the traitorous things from reaching for her and brushing the strands of hair back from her neck as he had done so many times before..

Well. 

Before he had burned every bridge he had once built. 

 


	3. Ruinel and Leliana “You're not alone”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A series of letters written between Ruinel and Leliana--takes place from the end of Origins onwards.

(A series of letters found in Warden Commander Ruinel’s studies by a pair of young Grey Wardens, who knocked over an old tome that spilled loose these papers. Shortly into reading these personal accounts they were cornered by not the Warden Commander herself, but by her lover, Leliana.)

_Leliana,_

_My love, I know why you’ve gone and I know that your following something far greater than the two of us but I miss you. Vigil’s Keep has been far more difficult than I could have ever intended. Recruiting the Wardens is the least of my troubles, gaining their respect less than that. They end of the Blight is still fresh, they all know what I’ve done, or at least the parts of it they want to know._

_There’s an energy about this place, I can’t help but think it’s the remnants of the Howe’s, after all hearing what Rendon did to Baraneth’s family…it puts a taint across this whole area. Something is going to happen, I can feel it. I just wish that you were here to face it with me._

_But you must have received one of the royal wedding invitations, I doubt even you would be able to lose the Denerim ravens. I do believe that the only say Baraneth or Alistair had on them was their signatures. At least I will see you there, right?_

__Ar lath ma, vhenan,_ _

__Ruinel 9:31 Dragon_ _

__–_ _

_Ma vhenan,_

_The Wardens have settled well into Vigil’s Keep and things are..looking up. I wish you were here to see it with me. I’ve found ways to take blood magic and use it for good, the last of the scars except for the worst from the Blight are mostly faded. I’ve even got one of the older mage recruits teaching me some blade tactics to combine with my staff and magic. Anything to keep up with the recruits, I suppose._

_They’ve begun asking about you, some of the original Wardens. The newer recruits have just started making up stories, some of which are wilder than some of your tales I’d wager. They want to know where you are. ~~I want to know where you are. Nights are lonely without you. Nights are when I can’t keep my thoughts from straying from you. I miss…It’s lonely…I’m tired of being alone.~~_

_I don’t know if you’ve heard but Bara and Alistair have secured Shianni has a bann of the Denerim Alienage, you know the city elf woman we met? It might not seem like much but there are changes being made in the Alienage from what’s reached me here. It looks as though the same can be said for mages in the future, Bara writes saying that she’s fighting the bannorn tooth and nail._

_Ar lath ma,_

_Ru 9:34 Dragon_

_P.S. I heard about Revered Mother Dorothea’s ascension to Divine, I assume that means good for you as well. You know I don’t ascribe myself to the Chantry, but congratulations may be in order._

_—_

_Leliana,_

_I know you last said you were in Kirkwall and I pray to the Creators that you are not there now. Word has just reached me of what happened with the the Chantry, the slaughter…_

_I can’t help but think that that is somehow my fault. Anders was my responsibility, he was one of my wardens. I’m the one that was there when he took on Justice and I’m the one that let him leave. I didn’t try to go after him._

_Venhendis! He should have spoken to me, I told Anders he didn’t need to turn away completely! If he had reservations or aggravations with the Chantry he could have turned to m e. I always heard stories of him in the Calenhad Circle…but this. This is something else entirely._

_If one of my wardens can snap then how many others will follow? How many others will I fail? How many other will feel too intimidated to approach me?_

_I…I don’t know if I can keep doing this alone. I’ve found myself slipping again, questioning things I thought were now set in stone. I just need you to be out of Kirkwall, please tell me you are out of Kirkwall._

_If you are gone…I don’t know how I should keep moving onwards._

_-Ru 9:37 Dragon_

_—_

_This may be the last time I write to you for a long while my love._

_Baraneth’s letters have been becoming increasingly dark as of late and I worry about her. It’s even to the point where Alistair himself writes to me saying that he doesn’t know how to help her any longer._

_She’s told me that her advisors have been becoming increasingly adamant about needing an heir and have begun speculating as to why after almost a decade of ruling there are yet to be any royal babies being doted on. She claims that she is somehow failing her duty to Ferelden and I fear from the paths her mind wanders down that if she does not get away from the politics of it all that she will not be getting away._

_I’ve found some leads on a potential cure for the taint that poses the trouble, and I’ve proposed to her that I go and search for it. Despite being the queen she’s adamant that she is going to join me and I am not able to tell her no, not after all these years. Nor would she listen to me._

_Laurel will be taking over my duties in Amaranthine for a time. I do not know where this search will take us, but I pray that we find something._

_May this raven find you swiftly vhenan,_

_Ru 9:40 Dragon_

_—_

_To whomever this letter may find,_

_Whispers have reached my ears of a plague of the mind sweeping through the Orlesian Grey Wardens, and yet no one will tell me whether my own charges, those in Ferelden, are affected as well._

_I am returning as swift as I can from the furthest reaches of my search beyond the edges of Ferelden’s maps. Do not allow the Wardens to fall, it will bode ill for us all if that is to happen._

_-Warden Commander Ruinel Surana 9:41 Dragon_

_to Leliana/Sister Nightingale only,_

_My love, I believe we have found the cure. But it is hardly in it’s finished stage and while I beg Bara to return with me the stubborn woman insists she must stay and find the true cure. And yet she gives me leave to return to my Wardens just to ensure their safety. If she falls I will have a friend and queen’s blood on my hands._

_Leliana, I hear whispers of the Calling in my mind again. It has been years since I have last heard it and I don’t know what to do. It’s always there, loudest in my dreams and I have to wonder…though it is so soon..it cannot be my time to go into the Deep, can it? We had another decade ahead of us, one where we could be together._

_I can only hope that this Calling passes,_ _~~but on these paths I have never crossed before I am entirely alone and I do not know if I am going to be able to face the long road back. and~~ I hope to find you when I return. Just tell me that my sister is okay, tell me that you are okay. _

_Ru_

_–_

_Ru,_

_You’re Wardens are safe, they are afraid and hearing whatever this false calling is that haunts all the Order but there is none of the hysteria that struck the Orlesians. They have faith in you and that you are returning._

_But you, I worry for you my love. It is not your time, this calling is wholly false, just as it whispered in your nightmares after the Blight. You are not alone, and I am waiting here for you._

_Come home to me. Safely._

_-Leliana 9:42 Dragon_


	4. Baraneth and Alistair: “I won’t lose you too.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An alternative to Fort Drakon for Baraneth and Alistair
> 
> *WARNING FOR MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH

Fort Drakon burned around them, the flames growing higher with each gust of wind furled out from the archdemon’s wings, the scent of death and decay swirling around them. 

She had seen flames rise this high, spitting their ashes into the sky shining with stars, she had smelled the decay and tasted the tang of iron blood on the cobblestones of Highever. 

The darkspawn were dead, and those who were still spluttering were felled by the survivors; man, elf, dwarf, it didn’t matter. All that remained was the archdemon, screaming it’s awful cry and dancing back and forth on deadly feet. 

Ruinel, arms slicked to her elbows with blood, a small knife glisting in her hand, staggered over to Baraneth. Her face was pale, eyes unnaturally bright, the blood magic she drew on and the lyrium she supplemented with weighting heavily on her after so much fighting. “Baraneth! We need to strike it down!” 

 _Let me go_  her eyes pled, already her grip loosening on her staff as if to drop it and run. Fixing her with a stony, warning look Baraneth hefted her longsword, heavy in her hand, and let her shield clatter to the ground. It was her duty, she was the eldest of the new recruits, she was the one that had refused Morrigan’s vile offer. She took a step forward–

Only for someone to seize her arm, wheeling her around. “Bara, wait!” 

Furiously her eyes snapped up, already she was yanking her hand back…

Alistair. He was looking at her, eyes sad and…determined? 

“What Riordan said about the final blow…let me take it.” 

She sucked in a breath, sound tunneling around her until it was just the hammering of her heart and her breath, the idea of losing her Alistair echoing in her mind like it was an empty chamber. Her lips mouthed ‘ _no’,_ nothing more than a hoarse puff of air escaping her lips. Alistair was saying something, his lips were moving, but she was already shaking her head. 

Duty, something about duty. But that didn’t make sense..they were both Grey Wardens it was just as much her duty, or Laurel’s duty, or Ruinel’s duty. But she wouldn’t call on either of the two, the sisters deserved their lives just as Alistair deserved to live his…she at least could have her family waiting for her beyond the veil…

Her family. Nan, lying in the kitchen among the elves that had smuggled Baraneth sweet tarts when she wasn’t looking. The kennel master with the Cousland war dogs fallen where they tried to stand and protect, who had given Baraneth her beloved puppy when she was just a child. 

Mama, and Papa..pleading with her to leave as she sobbed and begged to  _stay._

“No, no, I can’t lose you too, Alistair, please.” Her voice wavered, low and  hoarse.

She could see his breath, sharp and quick. He was afraid. They all were afraid. But his hand grip tightened on her arm, catching her eyes and holding them until the dying battle slimmed down to just them. “I don’t want to leave you, but we’re out of options. If this is how it has to end…I’d rather it be this way.” 

“You aren’t saying goodbye to me.” Her voice dropped again, quavering into a growl. “You aren’t.” 

“Bara,” His voice was pleading with  _her_ now, desperately asking something she couldn’t give. “I wouldn’t trade anything for what we’ve had. Just..please don’t forget about me.” 

His gauntleted hand rested against her cheek, blocking out what was going around them and her wide, wild eyes searched his, lips parting as she searched for words and only found harsh breaths. “I won’t…I won’t because I won’t let you do this.” 

 “You say that like I’m giving you a choice.” The air froze between them with the soft words, eyes filled with immeasurable sadness but the unmovable strength of stone. 

Baraneth recoiled as if struck, brows drawing together as her eyes welled up with emotion. Though her heart beat into her throat her voice shook with a trembling anger, tinged still by a strong undercurrent of fear. “Alistair Theirin, you  _can’t_ leave me, you can’t–don’t do this–” 

“I’m sorry.” The archdemon shrieked behind them and sound came roaring back into Baraneth’s ears, deafening and shaking. Alistair turned on his heel, throwing himself towards the archdemon. He seized a fallen greatsword from the ground, digging his feet into the stone. 

“Alistair!” Baraneth screamed, lurching forward to sprint after him, her armor cumbersome in ways she had never realized. “ _No!”_

A blinding flash of pale light forced sent her stumbling to a halt, her forearm rushing up to cover her eyes. Over the rush of her heartbeat in her ears, over the sobs building in her chest the wail of the dragon twined with an agonized shout and Baraneth pushed her eyes open and legs forward. 

“ _Alistair…”_ She cried.

A sudden, deadly silence wrapped around her like a blanket, the light dimming blessedly before exploding out. A burst of energy tore out across the rooftop, knocking her from her feet and sending her slamming into the ground. 

Before she could truly tell what had happened she was dragging herself to her feet, stumbling several steps as though she were drunk, vision tunneling on the fallen shadow beside the dragon. 

Blood darkening the stones, staining her armor as she collapsed at his side, a ragged sob tearing through her. His eyes were closed, blood trailing from the corner of his mouth. The greatsword lay only inches away, coated in blood. 

As if her body could no longer hold itself up she collapsed inward, fingers grasping uselessly at his breastplate as her head found his chest, listening in vain for any thrumming of a heartbeat. Mouth gaping against cries so despairing they could not spare the air to make noise she didn’t try to wipe away her tears. 

He was still warm, the exertion of battle and the heat of life not so quickly fading from his skin. 

If she closed her eyes–

If she pretended–

If she imagined–

–maybe he would be alright. 


	5. Ruinel and Leliana: “We finish the same way we started, together.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A small snippet for what happened before the wardens headed into Fort Drakon

“Leliana,” The words passed softly between the two woman, wrapped around each other in the dull orange firelight. “I’m scared.” 

Once the sun rose and the last embers of the fire faded there would be armies marching on Denerim, people would be dying..the Blight would be decided, once and for all. Around them now it was quiet, peaceful, tentative and shaky. 

It wouldn’t, couldn’t, last for long. 

She was scared, no, terrified, of what was to come. What could come to pass, what she could lose. What others around her would lose. The weight of the world was too heavy to rest on her narrow shoulders, she couldn’t carry the burden for much longer. 

Leliana pulled Ruinel closer, pressing a kiss to her forehead, then tilting her head to press a kiss to her lips. She was warm, she was comfort, she was the one thing she couldn’t stand to lose. “Don’t be. However tomorrow will end we will finish it the same way we started, together. I promise you.” 

“ _Ar lath ma, vhenan, ma ane to em o ar ame to ara’lan_.” murmured Ruinel, voice shaking and then repeated softly on an exhalation, “Together, until the skies go dark.” 

She buried her face against Leliana’s shoulder, hoping that maybe if she closed her eyes against the night then it would last forever and never fade into day. 

**

Flames tore through Denerim, ash falling from the sky like rain and smoke blotting out all but the things immediately around them. Baraneth straightened her shoulders, blood trailing from a cut above her eye and from her nose.

Despite the war coming to a head around them iron infused her will and she still stood strong, immovable. Just as their leader should, just as the future queen of Ferelden should. “We need to divert our forces or else we’ll be overrun and we won’t stand a chance if that happens! Alistair, Ru, Laurel, with me to Fort Drakon.” 

“Baraneth!” Ruinel protested, a sudden twist of fear striking through her.  Throwing a desperate glance over her shoulder at Leliana she couldn’t push away the thought of leaving her in the midst of all the darkspawn they had just killed with the inferno blazing. A shudder scraped its talons down her spine. When she looked back at Baraneth the older woman was unyielding, eyes turned shadowy in the darkening light. 

“Ru,” she growled. “ _With. Me_. We need all our Wardens if we’re going to face down that archdemon.” 

In case it didn’t work the first time, her stilted end of the sentence said. A dark look passed between Baraneth and Alistair, something cracking in Baraneth’s brave mask. 

Something had happened last night, there was a tension simmering between them that hadn’t been there before that Ruinel couldn’t explain away with the battle. Whatever happened in the darkest hours of the previous night stayed between them, their look breaking so that Baraneth could fix Ruinel with a look. 

It wasn’t an order, it wasn’t a threat in her eyes. It was a plea. She was afraid, just as afraid as the rest of them. 

Clenching her firsts, knuckles whitening around her staff, she consented with an inclination of her head. “Fine. A moment?” 

Her shoulders dropped in what had to be a sigh of relief, though the exhalation was silent in the roar of the ongoing battle. “Of course.” 

When she reached back her other hand Leliana was there to take it, at her side then sliding in front of her, cutting her off from the grim faces of Baraneth and Alistair, heads bent together themselves as soft words passed between them. She saw Alistair’s hand slide up to wipe something from Baraneth’s cheek before Leliana’s gentle voice caught her own attention.“Ru,” 

Her eyes snapped to Leliana’s, blue even in the orange light, crystal clear despite the dirt, sweat, and blood muddying up both their faces. “Leliana, I don’t want to leave. What if…” 

What if she left and no one was watching Leliana’s back. What if she fell and there wasn’t anything Ruinel could do to stop it. If she was injured and no one noticed, if, if  _if–_  

Firmly, Leliana blocked her fearful thought. “My love, it will be alright. Our paths part for now but I will be standing by you, to whatever end. I will be waiting for you when this smoke clears.” 

 _Promise me_. She could say.  _Promise me you will be there waiting for me and I in turn will make that promise to you_. 

But promises like that were meant to be broken. 

 _“Ar lath ma,”_ she said instead. “I love you.” 


	6. Briar and Anders: “I’m flirting with you.”

The only light filtering into Ander’s clinic this late from the shadowed alleyways of Darktown came from the uneven slits between the old wooden wall paneling. Inside the clinic itself, emptied of it’s patients now that dusk had fallen. Inside the clinic however, was still warm, filled with the dancing orange glow of the lanterns scattered throughout. 

“I told you not to go back out so soon after fighting the Arishok.” Anders chided, not glancing over at Briar from his wild rummage through his supplies for a lyrium potion–all but exhausted from a day spent healing the newest of injured patients caught in the peaking conflict with the qunari and other tensions manifesting in Kirkwall.

 Truth be told, he may not have even made it to the Amell Estate in Hightown for the night as had become their routine when he was not traveling and questing with her. As fate would have it–well, her own reckless abandon and stubborn habit of not listening as some would call it–she had ended up at his side anyways; Varric and Isabela had deposited her at Ander’s doorstep with good natured grumbling after she had apparently reopened the ugly wound given to her ever so kindly by the Arishok himself. 

Yes he had told her–as her healer and concerned lover–that she should wait until the wound was fully healed to don her armor and greatsword again but there was only so much time she could spend cooped up in her estate and the letters begging for her aid had been piling up her desk. 

Yes had noticed the pain where the wound sat under her armor after swinging her greatsword one too many times in the tunnels below Kirkwall. And yes she  _had_ kept going anyways, choking down a health potion to keep going to because there were people in Kirkwall who needed help and weren’t getting it anywhere else. 

So  _yes_  she had been pinned between Varric and Isabela like a drunkard staggering through the streets of Darktown, quite certain that she had indeed reopened the very wound that she had been told not to stress. 

“But did you listen?” Anders found what he was looking for and whirled around, gesturing at her with the half-empty bottle with it’s sloshing blue liquid. “Of course not.” 

Why he even bothered to tell her when he knew she wasn’t going to listen was beyond her, but Maker’s breath he looked exhausted far beyond the strain she had noticed on his face the last few weeks, maybe even months and  where she could have put in a smart comment all she said managed was: “Don’t strain yourself on my account, Anders. Slapping some fresh bandages on will do just fine.”

 Eyes narrowing in a stubborn look she knew all to well he did the exact opposite of what she did, placing the empty bottle back on the cluttered desk space and waved an hand towards her. “And risk having you undo all the work I spent hour fixing  _again_? Unlikely. Breastplate, off.” 

That she couldn’t ignore and she quirked a brow and tilted her head. “Are you flirting with me?” 

If he was exasperated at her ill timed and unasked for quips he didn’t show it except for scoff and a shake of his head. “If you don’t then I will and that’s grounds for me to ruin the fit of all those straps.” 

“So you  _are_ flirting with me.” Briar teased with a grin, though she rocked her weight off her hands on the rickety old plank of wood that might have once been a door and was now used as the spot where Anders treated his patients and starts unstrapping the various pieces holding the plate together. By the time she had stripped her breastplate off to leave her in her under tunic Anders was by her sid. 

“ _Briar_.” Anders hissed in exasperation, whatever grin might have appeared at her words fading as he stared at the now-rusty colored stain that had seeped through bandages that had covered the remnants of the wound and through the fabric of her shirt. His hands pushed up the fabric gently to expose the wound across her stomach, pressing the pushed up fabric into her hand that hovered to stop his from poking at the sensitive area. “Hold this.” 

With a sigh she complied, pressing her hand gripping the fabric below her sternum and tried not to wince. Despite preparing for the sting of a wound being proded instead all she felt as the gentle pressure of Ander’s hands on either side of the wound and the warmth of healing magic against her skin. 

The tension Briar had been holding in her body since she had re injured herself relaxed and she sighed again, this time in relief and not in reluctance. She let her head drop forward onto Ander’s shoulder, closing her eyes until she felt the magic fade away and his hands withdraw. They rose to brush her hair away from her neck and face, pressing a soft kiss to her jaw. “Better?” 

“Better.” She agreed, nuzzling her face closer to his neck. “You still didn’t have to do it.” 

“If you reopen it this time I will be surprised and impressed.” He leaned his weight into the hand not tangling in her hair and leaned his forehead against hers when she tilted her head up. “Though I don’t think Hightown is within reach tonight.” 

“It is quite far a walk.” she agreed softly, not shifting a muscle. 

“Not to mention Lowtown’s gang members.” 

“Mhm.” 

“It’s late, returning might wake the household.” 

“A tragedy, really.” 

“Perhaps it would be best if you stayed, to make sure you’re alright of course.” 

Briar smiled and gave a slight nod. “Of course. Healer’s orders.” 


	7. Ruinel and Leliana: “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?!”

“ _Syla_ ,” Ruinel sing-songed, ruffling the mix of elegant dark slate feathers and black baby fluff of the Griffon with her heavy head resting across her lap. 

She hadn’t intended to sit on the floor of the stables, the hay covering her dark breeches, but when she had come out to say hello to the creature of old–she could hardly believe herself that the cache of eggs had been found, could hardly believe it when they had been brought to Vigil’s Keep to be raised and definitely couldn’t believe it when her Warden charges had dumped the fuzzy black-feathered baby with the warm golden eyes in her arms. Two years on it had finally set in as reality and well, that wasn’t going to do anything to dampen her giddy excitement whenever she saw Syla.–she had been stretched across the hay in a nap and when Ruinel had sat down to gently pat her she had stretched out to rest her head in her lap.

The Fereldens had their dogs, the Wardens had their griffons. And if Baraneth–the queen-consort of Ferelden–could half her courtly duties because her old mabari Ailwife had taken up residence on her legs well then so could she. 

“ _Ehns ma ina’lan’ehn mor ean?”_ she intoned, to which Syla clicked her beak and purred, half lidded eyes rolling to glance at her. Scrunching her nose up and grinning she nodded. “ _vin ma ane_!” 

From beside the stable door Orion lifted his graying muzzle and barked, though it was soft and followed by a grunt as the old hound lumbered to his feet and scampered over to whoever approached. Syla’s head jerked up, feathered ears flipping forward and eyes widening. The griffon scrambled to her feet and Ruinel followed, brushing hay from her pants with one hand and reaching out to soothe Syla with a touch on the neck with her other hand. 

“Orion!” She called, the command for him to let alone whoever had come dying on her tongue as she glanced up. “Lel?” Scooting between the stable wall and the cracked open door, not bothering to open it all the way she ran the rest of the way across the stable yard to throw herself into her love’s arms. 

Leliana’s arms were quick to wrap around her, taking a step or two back at the force that the elven woman had barreled into her with with a flourished twirl before setting Ruinel down. Her arms remained anchored around her waist while Ruinel laughed giddily, pressing her palms on either side of Leliana’s face as if making sure she was really there before pushing up to kiss her. 

“I didn’t expect you to be here!” she exclaimed when she pulled back, hands absentmindedly pushing away the strands of hair framing Leliana’s face, grown long over the past two years. “I thought with the Deep Roads and then the Frostback Basin and  _then_ the Exalted Council…” 

Laughing at her rambling words, Leliana cut her off with another kiss, resting their foreheads together. “The Inquisition is disbanded. I’m back here for good, Ru.” 

“…you should have written and I…” The words caught up with Ruinel’s mind and she broke off. “Wait  _what?_ You’re…the Inquisition…?” 

“Inquisitor Lavellan took Baraneth and Alistair’s offer, as far as  Duke de Montfort and Arl Teagan and the Bannorn are concerned the Inquisition is disbanded. What they don’t know is that it still hunts for Solas, backed by the Crown.” There was no mistaking the mischief in Leliana’s tone at being able to slip the blindfold over the Orlesian and Ferelden ambassador powers so easily and her smirk reaffirmed it but Ruinel was still stuck on one particular insinuation. 

“Wait, you said you were back here…but the Inquisition?” Her eyes were wide, but guarded after over ten years of being separated regularly by duty. She couldn’t care less in that moment that the king and queen were backing the Inquisition’s war effort, meaning that this Solas was a threat beyond measure, or that Arl Teagan didn’t know his rulers were blatantly disagreeing with him and the Bannorn. All she heard was that Leliana was returning to her side. For good? 

“I had to shift my duties to Charter, and make sure she was up to it. There were a few loose ends I needed to knot but the Inquisitor released me from the title of Spymaster…” She trailed off, tilting her head with concern in her eyes. “Ru?”

“You’re really staying?” Ruinel asked tentatively and at Leliana’s nod she smiled wide. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?!” 

At the elf’s offended question–softened by the giddy joy overlaying it–the ex-Spymaster smiled in return. “I had to make sure everything would run smoothly and that the world wouldn’t end as soon as I left.”

Despite herself Ruinel scoffed. “The world is always ending.” But within a heartbeat she was kissing Leliana joyfully again before she sprung back, tugging her hand into her own. “Schmooples the second will be so happy to see you, and Boulette and the newest litter of nugs! The recruits have been  _all_ over them.” 

She paused in her rapid-fire words to catch Leliana and Syla staring at each other–the former with awe and the latter with suspicion. “ _Creators_ you haven’t met Syla!”

All but pulling Leliana over to the sleek griffon, Ruinel held out her hand until Syla stepped forward as well, eyeing Leliana with a guarded curiosity. Intelligent golden eyes looked between her chosen Grey Warden and the newcomer, beak clicking uncertainty. 

“You wrote about her but she is beautiful…” Leliana breathed, cautiously holding out her hand. After another moment of uncertain clicking, Syla pressed her beak to Leliana’s hand before lifting her head to nip at her hair. The griffon was eye to eye with her, while already the top of Ruinel’s head sat even with the top of the griffon’s withers. 

Leliana giggled at Syla’s attention, gently resting a hand atop her head and rubbing. “Yes you  _are_  a very beautiful lady arent you? And you  _know_ it.” 

“She gets along with Orion just fine, the two are practically grafted at the hip but I cannot get and her Boulette to even look at each other.” Scratching at Syla’s favorite spot on her withers Ruinel rolled her eyes as the griffon rolled her eyes. 

“Well we’ll have to get over that now won’t we?” Leliana spoke to Syla in a sugar-sweet tone. “Yes, you’re going to have to get used to the nugs.” 

Deciding she had enough of the talk of friendship with the small, squeaking creatures, Syla backed her way away from the attention and turned her back to them, swishing her long tail. 

“Seems my audience with the queen of Vigil’s Keep is over.” Even with one animal turning away, Leliana still had Orion bouncing around her legs, tongue lolling happily. When she reached down to rub his ears vigorously he wagged his nubby tail and leaned against her until she nearly tipped over. 

“I’ve missed you too, ser, don’t get jealous.” Leliana’s eyes jumped up to Ruinel’s with a tenderness that made her heart ache and she reached out for her hand. “And I’ve missed you too.” 


	8. Baraneth and Alistair: A kiss as encouragement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some of this maaay have made it into From the Ashes (pub date tbd)

“There are…a lot of people out there.” Alistair’s brows knitted as he looked into the grand hall of the Denerim palace, with it’s high ceilings echoing the noise back to the outer hallway, where he waited for the Chantry mother’s signal to approach, with Baraneth by his side. It was filled with Ferelden citizens and the great doors opened out to the streets beyond where a sea of people could be seen with a single path between them cleared for the newly anoited monarch and queen-consort of Ferelden to wade through after the ceremony. “And they all expect me to not run screaming at the sight of them?” 

Baraneth laughed, more an amused exhalation hissed from her own nerves than anything. Smoothing her hand across the ornately embroidered half-cape draped across Alistair’s shoulder until her hand settled on his chest, she followed his gaze out to the people. “I think they expect you to ride in on a shining white griffin like the tales of old.” 

Eyes darting to her and narrowing in amuesment dampened with worry, Alistair hummed nervously. “Right, well, I think we’re short a griffin. Did someone check the stables?” 

“Every inch of it. Even the rafters. Must’ve got it in it’s mind to fly off in the middle of the night.” Despite the fact that there was absolutely no griffin and hadn’t been for years and they would no doubt have been berated by any of their advisers for joking in what was meant to be the waiting period before the serious matter of swearing an oath to lead Ferelden under the watchful eye of the Maker it felt right to quip back and forth, like each jab cut through layers of nervous tension. 

“I think the bird had the right idea.”

Even so, out of the corner of her eye Baraneth watched the Chantry mother appear to finish the last of her preparations and lifted a hand against the weight of the bear fur hanging heavy across the shoulders of her dress and rested it against Alistair’s cheek, drawing his eyes to hers. With his brows pushed together and eyes wide they were soft and expressive as a mabari’s, the sun through the stained glass windows turning them a shining hazel. The worry melted into warmth when he looked at her, something in his tension easing. 

“Alistair, it’s going to be alright. We’re together in this, remember?” With the gentle pressure of her hand she guided his lips to hers, the kiss fleeting but sharing fears and worries and washing them away with a simple gesture. 

When she pulled back, drawing her hand with her he caught at it, cradling it in his own and pressing a kiss to the back of it. “Together.” He repeated before his heavy exhalation brushed across her knuckles. 

“Always.” 

Alistair closed his eyes and when they blinked open again they were filled with a set determination and a half smile quirked his lips as the Chantry mother summoned them. “Shall we make a good first impression then?” 

Hand in hand they turned to face the crowd through the doors, and stepped onto the dais dancing with the colors of the sun through the stained glass windows and lighting down on them. 


	9. Ruinel and Leliana: A Kiss From Joy

“ _Welll_  they’ll say Andraste can’t have some big old smelly wardog. But all Ferelden knows it right: Our sweet Lady needed someone who would warm her feet at night…” 

With only the four Grey Wardens and their party left in the main hall of Eamon’s Denerim estate, Alistair’s voice boomed off the wooden walls and vaulted ceiling, coupling with Baraneth’s own shaking-with-laughter voice as they stumbled through the verses. Even caught snugly in the circle of Alistair’s arms, with the patchwork of her skirts spread across their legs she still reached down to scrunch up the happy, panting face of her mabari in time with the off-key singing; who was sitting dutifully by her side begging for the remnants of food on the table and wagging his nubby tail at his giggling mistress.  

The remnants of braided crowns of forget-me-nots, gillyflowers and blue violets sat askew on the newly wed’s heads, shedding petals as Baraneth abandoned Ailwife’s fur to drape her arms across Alistair’s shoulders again, cutting off his now-solo as the voices of their companions dropped away singing with a giddy kiss. 

Amid a chorus of fuss and faux-dramatic gagging from Zevran and Ohgren Ruinel laughed softly and rested her head back against Leliana’s shoulder. While the others had been up and about, celebrating and doing what some may have passed as dancing, Ruinel had settled down on one of the long, wooden benches and remained there for most of the night. In part it was her heavy-headed mabari Orion sprawled across her legs, big brown eyes glancing at her from time to time like he was making sure his charge was still there, and in part it was the healing she had left to do after Fort Drakon that kept her tied to the bench. Leliana had slipped behind her a little while ago, preferring to be close and comment on their companion’s antics from afar as the celebrations wound down. 

Her fingers paused in weaving and unweaving the flowers tangled through Ruinel’s hair, an inquisitive hum brushing the air by her ear. 

“They’re absolutely ridiculous.” 

“Who? Zevran and Oghren or the two lovebirds?” Leliana asked, amusement lancing through her words. “I think they’re sweet.”

Before a comment could follow the same verse started up again, only to be cut off by Baraneth’s loud shushing. “Alistair! You only know that one verse _!”_

 _“_ And you have something better, my dear?” 

After some casting about and some garbled suggestions from their companions that didn’t seem to offer any salvation from being put on the spot, Leliana finally sang over the din; “Three little empresses, which of them is true? A simple glass of…”

Whatever she had called out must have rung some bell as Baraneth picked it up and the others soon followed, creating a song of enthusiastic clapping along and laughter. Ailwife grumbled along to the noise, a low, rumbling noise that wasn’t a howl but wasn’t a form of dissent and Orion lifted his square snout to add his two cents on the song. 

Leliana snickered at the noise. “That one will keep them entertained.” Dropping her voice conspiratorially she added: “Just don’t tell them it’s Orlesian, they may be deposed before the coronation for it.” 

They looked at each other for several beats, pushing back smiles before the music and enthusiasm of being alive and the high of Baraneth and Alistair’s happiness won them over and in between fits of giggles and smiles Leliana’s hand gently cupped Ruinel’s jaw and brought their lips together. 


	10. Baraneth and Alistair: The way you said “I love you”: When we lay together on the fresh spring grass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This also maaay have made it a bit into From the Ashes

It wasn’t hard, all things considered, for the standing king and queen of Ferelden to slip from the throne room in the chaos of departures after their final session in Court. With foreign dignitaries and the Bannorn still holding their little petty bicker sessions long after the official answer had been called hardly anyone was looking for the very leaders they had come to speak with. 

“Thank the Maker we’re finally though,” Hand in hand, Alistair and Baraneth pulled each other through the halls of the Denerim Palace. With the summer season sweeping in in full force the halls were bright but mostly empty, most of their staff taking a well earned break in the waning evening heat. Taking a few skipping steps Baraneth pulled her shoes from her feet, keeping them loosely in her free hand. “I thought the bann of Dragonmount was never going to stop talking.” 

Alistair laughed, a sound deep in his chest as he pulled Baraneth aside to duck through a small archway. Their feet landed on a path through the tall grasses on the outskirts of the courtyard and took them towards the training grounds. The first heat wave of the season shimmered in the air around them and settled in a thin sheen on their skin. “He has a small area of land he has to make himself known somehow.” 

“Oh and make himself known he did.” She retorted with a scoff, hiking the heavy folds of her dress up off the ground and clinging to it with the tips of her fingers not occupied with her shoes. “So many problems should not come from such small land.” 

Their skipping flight from the Bannorn came to an end as they came to the back edge of the training grounds, finding it empty of bodies in the dusty heat. Alistair spun around, his hands settling on her waist when she stumbled into him at the sudden stop. “ _But_ we’re done for the day, and the training grounds are empty…”

“And that means we have a little bit of time before our staff misses us.” Baraneth supplied in giddy humor, as if they were two teenagers sneaking out after dark and tossed her shoes aside. Standing on her toes she pressed a kiss to his lips, pulling back just enough to murmur: “Now go get our weapons so I can kick your ass.” 

With his laughter renewed Alistair returned the gesture and slipped away. “Bold words my love.” 

She made a shoo-ing motion with her hand, quirking a brow. “You act like I’m wrong. But  _go_ , before they come looking!”

Offering her a sloppy salute Alistair complied, turning on his heel to jog towards the training weapons rack while Baraneth dealt with her dress in the manner of someone quite adept at taming the layers of fabric deemed appropriate for a queen to be seen in. By the time Alistair returned, two swords balanced in one hand–the wooden swords used by training squires unfortunately, steel and other forged weaponry would be carried  _into_ the training ground and try as they may neither Baraneth nor Alistair could smuggle a sword in under their clothing–and two just as wooden shields clutched to his chest, Baraneth had the skirts of her dress tied up around her knees and the topmost laces of her bodice undone so she could move her arms. 

Barely blinking an eye where the rest of the nobility would shriek with scandal, he tossed her one of the swords and a shield after she caught it. Then as she slipped the leather bindings onto her arm to hold the shield in place Alistair gestured out towards the dust bowl of a training ring. “Ladies first, of course.” 

“Such chivalry.” Baraneth quipped, sweeping out into the field and dancing around rocks that threatened to stub her bare toes. It took Alistair a moment to join her, caught up as he was in wrestling free of his doublet and leaving him in his linen undershirt, but when he squared up opposite her it was with ruffled hair and a beaming grin. 

Their sparring was a dance in itself, elegant and graceful until it wasn’t–falling quickly from muscle memory practice drills to random swings and laughter filled jabs until they were more chasing each other around. Baraneth leaped up onto the half wall lining the edge of the training grounds, balancing like one of the cats in the barn rafters. From the high ground she slapped aside a few silly jabs from Alistair until he ducked around her return blow with a gleam in his eyes. Before she knew it her sword was knocked from her hand in a cheap move and before she could protest his arms were around her, pulling her from her ledge to close to his chest instead. Nestling his face in the crook of her neck and shoulder his words were warm across her skin. 

“I believe you’re weaponless. I win?” 

“On a cheap move.” Baraneth groused before she sighed. “But I yield, I don’t think I can make it through another round.” 

“Oh thank thank the Maker.” Alistair breathed out. “I thought I was going to collapse into a melting puddle of goo in this heat.” 

Baraneth ran her fingers through Alistair’s hair, a smile blooming. “It’s only the beginning of Guardian, love we aren’t even into summer yet.” She laughed when Alistair cursed. “Not as immune to the elements as we were as spry Grey Wardens, are we?” 

Despite her teasing Baraneth herself didn’t protest when Alistair retreated into the shade at the edge of the training grounds, flopping down into the grass. She tossed their weapons aside, rubbing at the red marks the shield straps left on her arm as she too went to the grass and eased herself down. 

Alistair grinned that silly, endearing grin at her as she swept her hair from her neck and groaned her her tired shoulders protested. “I think we may have gone a little soft and squishy since the Blight.” 

Baraneth huffed in agreement, leaning back and finding Alistair’s arm outstretched so that she could pillow her head on his arm. With the bees humming their spring song above them and the sun starting to sink over the horizon, with Alistair’s fingers gently playing with her hair, it was peaceful for a time. 

Peaceful until their staff started their search for the king and queen of Ferelden, and found them tangled together in a blissful nap under a shady tree. 

Maker’s breath, they were never going to hear the end of  _that_. 


	11. Briar and Anders: “ i really need you to hug me right now. ”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Hardcore angst, character death, spoilers for All That Remains in DA2 (if y’all have played through that quest you know why)

_(“You’re mother didn’t show up for her weekly visit.”_

That alone hadn’t been enough to put a chill into Briar’s bones, none of the Hawke family had been particularly fond of Gamlen since their rise into Hightown and surely her mother had simply run into a delay in the marketplace instead of suffering their weekly meeting. Or perhaps, Bethany and Briar hadn’t been fond of Gamlen. For some reason Mother still tolerated him. 

So, she had crossed her arms, cocked her hip and had a sharp retort ready on her lips when Bodahn wandered into their conversation and dried her retort right in her mouth. “Maybe she’s simply with her suitor.”

That couldn’t be right, Leandra had no suitors. She hadn’t looked at another man sideways since father had passed, not any that Briar knew of. It wasn’t as though her mother would have snuck around like some teenager either, she was a grown woman with two grown daughters, she didn’t need to. She echoed the sentiment out loud, mirrored by Gamlen’s own. At least on that, they could agree. 

“Well, those lilies arrived for her this morning.” Idle flowers, resting on the corner table in a simple vase, crisp white petals only just starting to wilt and brown at the edges from the ongoing heat of the hearth. Briar hadn’t even taken note on them when she had walked in.  

No.  _No._ That wouldn’t…

“The killer…” Though Briar’s voice had hardly been above a croaking breath, both Bodahn and Gamlen’s eyes snapped to her, her uncle’s voice cutting into her shock like a knife when the thought struck her. . 

“ _What_?” 

Briar was already shaking her head, a tremor starting deep in her gut and working into her voice. “There’s a killer, he always sends his victims white lilies, he’s killed several women already.”

That wasn’t what was happening. Mother was fine, she had simply taken a different route, or run into a bit of a crowd at the market. 

“Leandra is fine, that can’t be right.” Gamlen’s own uncertain words echoed her own thoughts, perhaps the last time they’d see eye to eye on anything. “She must have just taken a different path. I should go wait for her, laugh about all this fuss.” 

Then he was gone and Briar was tearing into her room, all shaking hands, and wide eyes as she tied her sword and scabbard around her waist, abandoning her armor when her fingers wouldn’t work the clasps. She just needed proof, she just needed to see that this was all some laughable overreaction. 

“Mistress Hawke!” Bodahn called even as she shouldered past and into the streets of Kirkwall’s Hightown, scanning the crowds and hoping that she’d see the face of her mother, smiling at her and her silly notion that she had ever been in danger. 

She found no one.)

Her heart stopped when she found the blood, slicking Darktown’s dirty streets and staining the wooden stairs deep, rusty brown. “It leads somewhere, the blood leads somewhere.” She babbled uselessly, reeling even as her feet carried her forward and her eyes carried her down, down the swirling pattern of that blood peppering the streets. 

“They’re here somewhere, they have mother. Mother!” She had been raising her voice now every few strides, there was never a response. No face that turned towards her was Leandra’s, and no one stepped forward to calm the terrified young woman screaming for her mother like a lost child. 

(She had run from Hightown to Darktown, near tumbling down the steps that led from Kirkwall’s best to Kirkwall’s worst, and slammed into the door of his clinic before her fumbling hands had the chance to attempt the latch. 

“Anders!” If she screamed loud enough maybe she could drown out the fear pumping her heart faster than her breathing could keep up and maybe she could drown out the thoughts of those pearly white flowers, taunting her on the corner side table, and the thought of the killer’s hands on her mother. 

Her hands beat on the wood palms down, forehead against the splintered wood grain as she all but collapsed against it. “Anders!” 

The mage barely had time to open the splintered door, hands on her shoulders as she tumbled forward before she the words rushed from her, tripping and scattering in all directions. Her hands locked on his arms and when she brought her eyes up she saw the crisp eyes of a healer assessing her as if he thought her to be injured. No…no this was far worse than any injury. He shouldn’t be worried about her, he should be worried about–

“Anders, they’ve taken mother. They’ve taken her and I don’t know where she is and they’ve left lilies and I don’t know where she is and she’s somewhere, but  _where_ –”)

 “Mother!” The cry that had been building for what felt like hours ripped painfully free of her chest, her vision tunneling to the prone figure across a wooden board set up like a cot, seeing only the shock of white hair, the similar cut of the dresses that were so in fashion to her mother and the older ladies of Kirkwall. “Moth–” When her hand on the shoulder met no resistance, the body of a woman resembling but not being Leandra flopping over onto her back, eyes boring sightless into Briar’s, she shrieked again–a terrified wail born of fear and disgust. 

Then, scribbled notes scattered around, notes in a rushed hand on preservation, textures of skin, eye colors, all building into one sick and twisted image that Briar barreled past. This wasn’t happening, the answer lining in up in front of her wasn’t true.

“Briar!” Anders’ hand snatched at her as her sprint stumbled into a halt, dust pooling around her as she fell to her knees. While his hands steadied her on her shoulders–neither he nor Varric, nor even Isabela, had been able to do anything to stop her frantic run through the streets of Kirkwall and had finally decided just to sprint after her–she dug into the dust, her hands pulled from the dust a broken and trampled on locket. 

“I know this locket.” Letting her head fall back she stared hard at the ceiling, everything starting to spin around her as her word narrowed another inch. “it belongs to mother. It’s mother’s, why is mother’s locket down here?” 

Their eyes drifted up among the scattered papers and notes, tables and torn books, to fix on a painting fixed above a gruesome mantle and Briar’s horror condensed into one whimpering moan. “I need to find Mother, I need to find her  _now_.” 

* * *

“I was wondering when you’d arrive.” Briar only saw the man at the other end of the room, staring at her with unfocused and serene eyes, swaying on his feet when they charged into their only possible option, all other tunnel’s dead ending. “Leandra was so sure you’d come for her.” 

She hated the tremble in her voice, putting her back to being a child, crying after a horrible nightmare into her parent’s arms. “Where is she?” 

“You will never understand…chosen because she was special..part of something greater..”

The words floated by her ears like water in a river, a shaking hand jabbing a finger at the man as her voice rose. “ _Where is my mother_?”

“I have done the  _impossible_.” Only then did Briar see the oaken chair behind him, the sound of shifting silk. “I have touched the face of the Maker and  _lived_.” 

Already she was taking a step back, the rank smell curling her nose, and already her friends were at her back, reaching for her but froze halfway, all eyes fixed just as her’s were. “I pieced her together from memory. Her eyes, her skin, her delicate fingers, I’ve found it all. And at last, I found her face, her beautiful face.” 

The shifting silk stood, wavering on its feet like a doll on strings, toddling after the mage and facing them fully. 

Only then, did Briar look into sightless blue eyes, pallored grey skin, and cry soundlessly, mouth gaping and lungs convulsing as they searched for air that she couldn’t remember how to get. Her heart worked into her throat, choking her, and her stomach plummeted into the ground at her feet, threatening to spill what little was left in her stomach. 

She didn’t remember the mage falling, only turning and catching the staggering woman in her arms. “Mother!”. Without the man’s power, she sagged heavy, bringing Briar to her knees. The putrid scent of decay swirled around her, watering her eyes with far more than just revulsion and horror, even as she cradled her mother’s shoulders in her arms and laid her across her lap. 

Just as Leandra had done with Carter, broken and laid across the stones by the Ogre. Just as Briar had done with Bethany, shuddering from the Taint as they waited for the Grey Wardens in the Deep Roads. 

“That man’s magic was the only thing keeping her alive. Briar…I’m…” Anders’ voice faded into white noise as her mother lifted a trembling hand towards Briar’s cheek, only for it to fall limply back to her chest. 

“I knew you would come.”

“Mother, don’t move.” Briar’s voice wavered, pleading and demanding all in the same breath. “I’m going to get you help, I’m going to…”

She fell silent at her mother’s hush, tears gathering on her lashes and falling in streams down her cheeks. 

“Don’t fret darling, that man would have kept me trapped. Now I am free. I can see Carver, and you’re father again.” Each breath rattled and rasped in her throat, continuing on even as Briar shook her head on every syllable. No, she didn’t want to be alone. She couldn’t be alone. “But you’ll be here alone..”

“I failed you, mother. I came too late. I should’ve found you sooner, been stronger..I’m  _sorry_.” Sobbing, Briar’s revulsion did not rear it’s head when Leandra’s cold, bloated hand found her arm. 

“My little girl, you’ve done your best, you’ve been so strong and I love you. You’ve made me so proud.” With her last exhalation, as though exhausted by her words, Leandra went limp, clouded eyes finding the ceiling in an unseeing gaze. 

As though all her strings were cut too, Briar bowed over her mother’s body, shaking until it became unbearable and an anguished scream ripped from her raw throat. A second and a third, more agonized wails delving into panicked cries for her mother; the scent of death surrounding and suffocating her until someone’s arms went around her, pulling her up and away. Twisting to the side, she retched, body spasming against the revulsion that built and built and built alongside the grief. 

Someone’s hands on her shoulder, another brushing her hair back from her face until pulling her up to her feet. Unable to support herself, unable to find who, she just buried her head against their shoulders and shook. 

* * *

Someone deposited her at their– _her_ , now, she’s the sole member of her family with a claim to the walls and floors around her–estate, settling her in a chair with some mumbled promise that they’ll be back. She nodded lifelessly and stared into the flames, watching them dance back and forth. 

“Did you find her?” 

He didn’t even bother to knock, didn’t bother to announce himself. Instead, her uncle barged into the room, trampling down the stairs, with little regard to his sister’s daughter slowly crumbling to pieces on an old family chair. 

Just as her look was vacant, Briar’s voice was hollow. “She’s gone. I’m sorry, Uncle.” 

She braced herself for the vitriolic response, the shouting and maybe him stamping over to her so that she’ll look him in the eyes and repeat it. She doesn’t expect him to wither on the spot, shoulders slumping in her peripheral. “You were right then, about the flowers. I…she’s gone? Why her? Why Leandra?” 

Hanging her head, pressing her palms against her forehead, Briar heaved a breath and whispered. “I was too late.” 

That’s all the iron Gamlen needed pumped into his bones, enough to stiffen his spine and raise his voice until he was practically screaming acid at her. “So  _you’re_ to blame! If you had been stronger, quicker…you could’ve..she could be…”

“I know that!” Briar pushed herself from the chair, stumbling to face Gamlen and clinging white-knuckled to the cushioned back of the chair. Her voice cracked even as she shouted right back, though the acid in her own voice poured back onto her. “I know I should’ve been better, I had to be  _better_ and I failed her! It’s my fault and I don’t need you to tell me that!” 

The tension went out of her shoulders and she slumped over the back of the chair, her wrists straining to support her crunched over position. Tears dripped down her nose again and Maker, she felt as though her head was going to burst with the pressure of it all. Voice broken, when Gamlen offered no opposition to her claiming the blame, she said softly; “The killer used Mother to magically recreate his dead wife…had I been earlier..”

“You’re brother, you’re sister, you’re  _mother…”_ Gamlen spat at her, disgust seeping from his every word, though he did not finish the thought. “I never should have asked, I wish you hadn’t told me what that twisted son of a bitch did to her.”

“If it’s any consolation, Gamlen, the killer is dead.” Lifting her eyes, twisted with pain even in the firelight, Briar fixed her uncle in a cold stare. “Now please, leave. I will handle writing to Bethany..she deserves to know.” 

* * *

By the time Anders cautiously padded to the threshold of her quarters, pausing in the doorframe; she was sitting on the edge of her bed, the skin of her arms rubbed raw from her scrubbing with a cloth now homed in a pink-watered basin in the corner and in a new tunic. The one she had so foolishly run from the estate in only hours previous simmered and crackled in the heart, the flames eating at the blood-stained fabric scented with death slowly. 

“I know nothing that I say will change it…” Anders started slowly, his voice–low and soothing to hear in the silence that had surrounded her since Gamlen’s whirlwind departure–catching her attention. Though she did not take her eyes from the low burning hearth her cheek turned slightly to him, hair cascading like a wall between her face and his. “But for what it’s worth, I’m so sorry.” 

In her lack of response, Anders crossed the distance between them and perched on the bed beside her, not enough for them to touch, not without her say so, but close enough that she could feel his presence. It was…comforting. “You were lucky to have her as long as you did. When the pain fades that’s what will matter.” 

“I failed her. I woulf still have her if I didn’t…if I had..” Briar shook her head, tucking her hair behind her ear and then letting her hand bridge across her eyes. 

“She wouldn’t want you to blame yourself, she  _didn’t_ blame you–” He began, before breaking it off with a weary sigh. “Though that does not make it easier. But, I’m here for you,” and he moved ever so slightly closer, just so that their shoulders touched. “whatever you need.” 

Tired beyond measure, exhaustion clambering deep into her bones, Briar let her head list to rest on Anders’ shoulder. “I just..I just really need you to hug me.” 

Then, Anders wrapped her in his arms, in his warmth, and Briar tucked herself next to him. Curling her knees up in the space between them and her head against his chest, she breathed out and tried to forget the empty estate around her. 


	12. Tucdela and Cullen: “Stay here tonight.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thar be angst ahead!

They should have known, when the Inquisitor’s shout tore through their argument like barbed claws, not filled with anger but with fear and a deep pain, that something was very wrong. 

( _“All they ever are is angry!” Tucdela snarled, hand heavy on the table, fingers digging at the wood as her left arm was cradled close to her chest. The pulses of green shone through her glove, tendrils snaking green all the way to her elbow underneath her skin. “We save Orlais, they’re angry. We save Fereldan, and they’re angry. We save this whole_ fucking  _world and they’re angry. And now it’s all going to end. Fall apart_ again.. _.”_

_And then she was gone, stalking fleeing the room with her gait heavy and shoulders hunched. Silence had fallen between them, deep and uneasy._

_He should have gone after her._

_By the time he did, by the time he set aside his tasks and duties, she was curled on top of the plush Orlesian duvet, clutching a pillow that he knew smothered the ever present figure of the Anchor. Even as he tiptoed over her eyelids twitched, caught in a restless and fitful sleep._

_He was just going to make sure she was alright, save his apologies and reassurances for later. Then she had caught at his hand, eyes cracking open to heavy slits. “Stay here?”_

_Against every feeling, every emotion, the missive that had been shoved into his hand on his way through the Palace burned a hole into his pocket. Wrapping his fingers around hers briefly he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll be back soon.”_

_“Okay..” She had breathed out, burying her face back in the pillow, shoulders falling heavy as he slipped out of the room.  
_

_He should have stayed.)_

They should have noticed her pain, the way she’d stagger an off step and clench her fist like it was foreign to her. Maybe the shift in her tone, the intense weariness that had nothing to do with the politics, the unusually snappy responses she when dealing with the politics. 

He should have noticed.  _He should have noticed._

It took until it was too late for them to notice.

( “ _Commander! The Inquisitor’s party is returning.”_

_Cullen immediately pushed up from the table he was sitting at, reading the missive from Baraneth Theirin addressed to the Inquisition proper, catching a hitch in their scout’s tone. Leliana and Josephine looked up from their own work, concern etched into their brows._

_“And?” Josephone prompted hesitantly. “Were they successful?”_

_Silence. Then, “I don’t know, Lady Ambassador.”_

_As soon as the words fell chaos filled the room, all three battering the scout until they cowered against the door._

_“What do you mean you_ don’t know _?”_

_“What happened?”  
_

_“Is the Inquisitor alright? Varric, Dorian? Bull?”  
_

_A deadly pause fell after Josephone’s question. Hearts dropped to the floor, breaths caught._

_“Well, where are they?” The scout flinched away from Cullen’s voice and maybe he would have apologized if he hadn’t been fixed on the agonized look on the scout’s face, the look of someone with bad news to bear that they didn’t want to deliver.  
_

_“I know that the Inquisitor's party all arrived safely..”  
_

No… _Cullen had heard hedged replies before, heard several reports to agonized families. This couldn’t, wouldn’t, be one of them. The scout wasn’t going to look him in the eyes and tell him that the Tucdela had fallen, so close to the end of the line, to the point where they’d be able to finally find time for_ them _._

_–_ _“‘Dela, you aren’t going to die. I won’t let you.” Cullen pulled her closer, feeling the soft breath of her chuckle against his neck even as another pulse of the mark shuddered through her thin frame._

_That Maker damned mark that they had once thought so useful without once considering the consequences. How many rifts had she closed that brought her one step closer to this point, eyes squeezed closed and hand clutched in a tight fist, whispering that she’d rather have it end than have to tolerate it longer. If they had just stopped, thought of the living being behind the Mark maybe they wouldn’t be here right now. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Nothing concrete._

_“Cullen, you’re thinking too much again.” Tucdela’s voice hadn’t reached above a rasping whisper since this morning’s meeting with the Fereldan representative, where an uphill battle of words proved itself to be too much. “It’s not up to you, or me. It’s out of our control.”  
_

_“We should’ve found something.”_

_Shaking her head against his chest, her unmarked hand played with the edge of his shirt idly. “You can’t fight ancient magic.”_

_At the quiet resignation in her voice all his baseless reassurances and pleads died in his throat. Instead all he did was cover her Anchor-ed hand with his own, as if by hiding the light they wouldn’t be able to see it._

_She laced her fingers with his, and for a moment, the green light faded.–_

_There were a hundred answers he could have thought of in the seconds span between one breath and the next. He would have preferred any of them to the shaky words that were all but dragged out of the scout as they looked him in the eye and said:_

_“The Inquisitor’s gravely wounded, that’s all I know.”)_

If he paced enough now, outside her door as healers and mages inside flew through the doors or spoke in hushed whispers just beyond the wooden barrier, he could make up for all the time he had lost not being there for her. 

If there had been one more sword in that fight…one more mind..

He was told that that isn’t how it would have worked, and that Tucdela had confronted Solas alone. 

She always had seen the best in people, trusted the good in them. 

Otherwise, how would she have ended up with him? 

( _They can hear her muffled, agonized screams before they can see her._ _By the time they charge into the courtyard there was a crowd gathered already. Inquisition soldiers and other members at the innermost ring, nobles shrieking and babbling with their kerchiefs over mouths and eyes, mages and healers alike trying to shoulder their way through._

_His vision narrowed to the rogue, mage, and warrior that stand at the center, eyes wide and horrified. Varric was staring hard somewhere in the distance, studying anything other than the chaos around him. Dorian paced in the small square of room he has, fist hovering over his mouth. The Iron Bull, blood slicked across his armor in drying coats of rust, looked to the ground without a word._

_“Everyone_ leave!”  _The shout cuts through the ambient noise, silencing it almost immediately._

_Whether its Leliana, the Inquisition's forces, or even just the understanding that it was an order that shouldn’t be defied, the crowd split like a wave against a rock._

_He almost wished the crowd had stayed as one._

_There’s a mage leaned across Tucdela’s upper body, a healer putting their weight across her legs, pinning her to the stones. The mage’s fingers danced  from her forehead and she went limp, the mage guiding her head gently down until it rests on the stones._

_From here they could see her chest jumping in sporadic breaths, the arm pinned to the ground outstretched from her shoulder. Red stained her glove, seeping through to spill across the pristine cobblestones. Green still pulsed from her arm, and they could see the twines of it knotting delicately underneath her skin from the collar of her armor to her jaw._

_He wanted to go forward, almost convinced his feet to release from whatever kept them chained down. But then Leliana was at his shoulder, pinning him in place as the healers that had been fighting the crowd breath through with a stretcher and begin to move the limp elf._

_“You can best help her by letting the healer’s work.”  
_

_Only a strangled “Tucdela…” can break through the haze and numbness that locked his muscles._

_Leliana disappeared soon after, running a hand over her face and deeply shaken. One of her ravens flew by, vellum wrapped and tied neatly to its leg and he knew that she must have finally broken. He knows that look, and that look belongs solely to Warden Commander Ruinel Surana.  
_

_If he paused long enough in his pacing to ask he would know that she saw something in the Courtyard’s scene that mimicked the peak of Fort Drakon, a decade prior. He would know that for a moment she saw another elf bleeding on the stones._

_But he didn’t ask, and he didn’t know.)_

They asked for his help once, to use his weight and reach to hold her down. One hand on her shoulder, another on her leg as one of the healers pinned her legs down in earnest. She was trembling, he could feel it under his hand, sweat beading across her brow even in her unconscious state as the healer slipped a leather strip between her teeth. He didn’t want to know why, but he learned anyways. 

When the healer started his work, despite whatever spell had made her slip under, despite the unconsciousness that had dragged her down, she still jerked and he realized why there were three people holding her down, why that leather piece was gripped between her teeth and he wished he could forget every moment of it. 

He had been witness to many battlefield injuries before, seen many awful things. 

This counted among the worst.

They send him away after that and he’s left with only the mabari pup to keep him company. Even then the pup soon wandered off, bored of sleeping, bored of nudging the hand that won’t pat him. Cullen stayed. 

He was going to stay, he was always going to stay. 

He told Tucdela to stay too, despite her fighting for every moment, every inhale and every exhale. 

And when she woke it was almost as if she thought it’d have been better to go.


	13. Tucdela and Cullen: “I know I say this a lot, but…I love you.”

Cullen considered himself a man of routine. Whether it be the Templar training or just his structured personality he performed some tasks the same day in and day out, and that was how he liked it. One such task was keeping track of and putting away his armor at the end of the day so that come dawn he wouldn’t need to rummage around the cold stone floor in his barefeet and bedclothes trying to find a stray gauntlet. There were, of course, sometimes  _complications_ to this routine, mostly of elven nature if a certain Inquisitor had her way, but that, at least today, was irrelevant.

Today, his armor was conveniently missing from its stand, every bit, from mantle to boots. Thinking that maybe one of his soldiers thought to have a laugh and steal their commanding officer’s armor he made the quasi walk of shame–shameful in only that he felt quite bare in Skyhold’s cold morning air in his boots, trousers, and loose tunic shirt–down to the training court.

His troops were all gathered in a circle as he approached, unusually awake at this hour of the morning, without their usual grumblings of falling asleep on their feet, watching a smaller figure attempt to swing a sword much too long for them around.

As he drew closer he caught sight of familiar dark red waves and the elegant point of elven years curving from beneath her dark hair. She tried to heave the sword up again, familiar accented voice rising into the still mountain air. “You just need to whack it really, really hard.” As if to demonstrate she aimed towards one of the training dummies and the sword fall into the straw and cloth shoulder, sending up a puff of dust. It stuck, and she had to pull extra hard to get it out. “See, really hard.”

“Tucdela,” Cullen called, momentarily forgetting to call her by her title first–as had become habit in the initial period that he hadn’t let himself entertain the thought of her being anything other than his leader. Title notwithstanding his soldiers have already sniffed out the gossip that their Commander and her Inquisitorialness as Varric called her were spending an ample amount of time together– and there was laughter in her voice when she whipped around, nearly tumbling to the ground. His boots–and now he knew where his armor was as she’s requisitioned all of it, no matter how big,–are much too large for her feet, he can see that she can’t really lift them, instead shuffling along the ground. Somehow she’s clipped and tied his gauntlets around her arms and fastened her chest piece around her lithe figure, even if she’s swimming in the abundance of metal.

He has seen her in the fur mantle and cloth under piece to his armor, after all her usual armor around Skyhold was in fact a cut and tucked version of the over piece he draped around her in the snow of Haven, minus the heavy fur now. Now, however, his, fully not sewn to fit her proportions, hangs down to her knees and dangles loosely over her brown undershirt. Now it hangs down to her knees, danging distractedly loose around her brown undershirt.

“What’re you doing?” 

In a split second where she seemed shocked to see him without his armor, despite she herself wearing it, her eyes drifted over the loose but thin fabric of the one shirt he had been able to find in his haste before dragging to his face. Then they narrowed, a smirk quirked her lips and she barked in her best imitation of his voice–ridiculously husky and low and still clipped with the Dalish dialect. “Recruit Rutherford, you’re late!”

He couldn’t play around in front of his troops, they were already snickering behind their hands at the stand off between their commanding officer and their Herald. But she crossed her arms, cocked her hip and waited for a response.

So, in his driest voice he asked, “What’re you teaching today, Commander Lavellan?”

Tucdela hauled the sword up, gesturing between herself, her ‘students’, and the dummy. From the look she fixed on him he might as well have had the thought process of that dummy in that moment. “How to fight with a sword.”

He can’t help it, the natural banter he finds himself himself reaching for when its only them breaking free, when he immediately shot back; “Can you even swing that sword? You’re an archer.”

There are muffled exclamations from the peanut gallery of soldiers and he can practically hear the coins shifting hands and bets being made. “Inquisitor?”

Tilting her chin up he pinpointed the moment her smirk widened and she celebrated a small victory, perhaps in losing the complete professionalism he keeps a tight handle on. “Is that a challenge, Rutherford?”

It was a breach of every rule he’s set for himself over the past years of the Inquisition but she  _has_ been telling him to loosen up in front of his troops, make himself one of them instead of holding himself at a cool distance. Well, none of his men should be challenging the Inquisitor to duels in their armor. If they were then they would have something more to worry about than beating Tucdela Lavellan in one on one combat.

“You find yourself challenged, Inquisitor.” Scanning the gathered troops and waving towards the swords of one of the soldiers that was close to Tucdela’s build, a young Orlesian that had joined forgone her countrymen’s fight after the Winter Palace in favor of the Inquisition, if his memory served him right, he said. “Eira, if you wouldn’t mind lending the Inquisitor your sword.” 

She handed it over with a pushed down amusement filled grin and he turned to hold it out to Tucdela, quirking a brow. “You might want to take off the armor before you bring harm to yourself.”

Stepping closer than strictly necessary to grab the sword she pulled her lower lip between her teeth, keeping her voice between them. “Oh I can think of someone and some way better to remove this armor, Commander.”

Maker’s breath. With the relative calm that had come over Skyhold in planning their next blow and waiting for information to surface on their enemy, filled with odd jobs and resource gathering, much of the stress had lifted at least slightly from her shoulders; and while he thanked the Maker that she was no longer a husk of herself those green eyes looking up at him from thick lashes as she stepped back were almost to much.

It took her a few minutes of fumbling with the straps she’s crossed and recrossed before the armor came off, leaving her barefoot and just as under dressed for her rank or even just a duel as he is. Then again, with the rumor mill pumping furiously from Denerim about the fact that the King and Queen had dueled each other–for fun, nobles nearly lost their minds at such a concept–in their royal finery, dueling in shirts and trousers hardly seemed such an issue.

It took three or four blows for them both to realize that Cullen was correct, and that Tucdela was an archer by trade and nature and not a swords-woman. While not completely hopeless with blades, she did after all carry and know how to use two daggers were something to ever go wrong in combat with her bow, she was clumsy and unsure with a sword.

She lost gracefully, though not for lack of trying. With the weight of a sword weighing her down she couldn’t dance and flit around the way she could with her bow, couldn’t jump from spot to spot. Instead she would find her flank open, then her front, then her back; all faster than she could reach with her experience.

Finally she raised her hand in surrender, leaning on her sword. Her shoulders rose and fell quickly and she raked her hand through hair damp with swear. The loose brown tunic she had been wearing clung to her back but despite her tired and overheated look her eyes were gleaming with a light he hadn’t had to pleasure of seeing for a long time.

“I give.” With a wheezing laugh she rocked back and forth on her feet. “I’ve been humbled enough.” 

Then she smiled at him, beaming and happy, and he couldn’t help but give a small, reserved smile in return. Motioning to his troops he gave them his most stern look. “Alright, you’ve all had your fun at the Inquisitor’s expense, go get ready for your actual training.”

“I don’t know, Commander. Her Ladyship might be able to give you a run for your job.” 

Pointing at the smart mouthed soldier, though his tone remained light he shooed him off. “I didn’t ask for your smart mouth, ser, that’s an extra three rounds for you.”

With excessive grumbling the troops ambled away to prep for their real drilling, pushing and shoving back at each other. When it was only the two of them Cullen turned to Tucdela and offered a real smile. “Are you alright?”

She waved off his concern, straightening up and relinquishing the borrowed sword as her cane. “ _Pssh_ that? I’m fine. It’s only the most work I’ve done in months.”

Cullen wandered to the pile she had made of his armor, starting to sort through it and untangle straps. “Even with the dragon you and Bull slayed in the Approach?”

“Maybe less than slipping and sliding on sand while trying to avoid dragon breath.” Tucdela mused. “Though this is a close second.” 

He jumped when suddenly her arms were slung around his shoulders, her head resting against his. “Thank you, for doing that, even with your troops there. I think it’s the most fun I’ve had as ‘The Inquisitor’ lately.”

Pulling at the straps she had adjusted to make work he turned his head and pressed a kiss to her exposed jaw. “Anything for you.”

Her low hum rumbled in his ear as she pulled herself closer for a moment. “Ah, I know I say this a lot, but I love you. And I really don’t want to go to my meetings now.”

Then she was dragging her arms from around his shoulders with a huff, looking down at her sweaty and dusty garments. “Josie’s going to flay me alive if I show up in this.” She sighed, then fixed him with a look. “I’ll see you after these morning meets? Office or battlements?”

“As always.”


End file.
